Living Doll
by MihoAnsatsu
Summary: Melluzine is having trouble sleeping, and it seems a certain living doll isn't about to help anytime soon...or is she?


"Melluzine...we're coming to get you..."

You'd think after nearly six years of life in the Nightmare mansion, I'd be used to the peculiar and bizarre happenings within these crumbling, cursed walls. And every day during my time, I've had to cope with...well, I wouldn't have this problem if I'd grown up with my actual parents, I'm sure of it. I often wonder whether it's the mansion's way of letting me know they're alright, but then how would I know what they sound like?

Mother refuses to believe that there are voices in my head. She says it's just my annoying, little way of pining for attention.

Right now it's just a few minutes past the witching hour, and once again said voices are keeping me from sleep. As I tighten my grip on my half-dead, froggy companion, I can't help but squeal when I feel the cold, clammy eyeball fall out of it's socket and brush my leg. Now that, I _can't_ blame on the voices; ever since I was taken in by Mother, she's actually been _encouraging_ a little amphibian abuse, and frog's eyes are actually a common ingredients in her enchantments and such.

"Melluzine...Melluzine..."

"Go away!" I yell, feeling myself lash out a little and actually hitting something rather solid; soon turning out to be a familiar, blonde-haired doll when I heard the irked response of "Woah! It's only _me_, you psycho!". I can't help but feel terribly guilty for smacking her in the face; she may not have felt it, but that doesn't mean I was right to do so.

"What's wrong with you! I know your mom's as weird as they come but you don't have to be such a weirdo yourself, you know."

"I...I'd really appreciate it if you didn't talk about Mother that way," I said, in a somewhat hushed snarl. I'm not about to stay silent in the face of her insults but I'm worried about what she'll do to me. I know many girls wish that that their dolls would come to life, but life with Cutey is actually quite difficult. There's a song that Mr Sargh is fond of, by some really popular singer in Brithania, that is actually called 'Living Doll'. He sings about locking her in a trunk so no hunk can steal her away from him, and whilst I doubt he was really singing about an actual doll...I really wish someone would lock Cutey in a trunk and have someone like those creepy gangsters take her away.

But I find that the more I focus my attention on her, the less my mind focuses on the voices. Logical people would probably say something in regards to concentration and such, but I think it's because of Cutey's aura...well, if I was one of my own voices, I wouldn't want to be near such a demonic doll. Especially when one remembers it was _Miss Ielena_ who gave her her powers. And her cruelty. But then her cruelty was probably brought on by the children who almost tortured her in the way they handled her prototype self. Poor Cutey, she didn't ask for any of this, but she sure is making the most of a rare opportunity. And for some bizarre reason, I feel the urge to do the same.

"Cutey...I know it's not your favourite thing to do, but I'd really appreciate a hug right now...or at least a hand to hold."

It may be dark, but I just know Cutey's wearing a rather unimpressed expression as she stares at me from the other side of the bed. She can't get to sleep either, but it's more that she doesn't physically need to; having been made a living doll, she's still a doll all the same so doesn't possess the same bodily functions as we do. Well, I doubt plastic and varnish ever feels the need to eat, but we all know Miss Ielena made her hungry for revenge.

"Cutey, please," I plead. "I know very well you don't like being touched, and I can only apologise for how the children handled you, but...please."

"You just don't get it."

"Ex-excuse me?"

"You don't get it, and you never will," she snarls, not even looking me in the eye. "Brats like you aren't to be trusted. Don't think I haven't seen how you treat those frogs, poking them endlessly and pulling their legs off. How can I be sure you wouldn't be like that with me?"

Cutey has never trusted a single person, creature or entity in her life, and not even a good word from her new mother is enough to make you an exception; though you can never be sure whether Miss Ielena sung your praises or told a big, fat, dirty lie about you, since no one's ever been there to see those two speak to each other. Their conversations always seem to be behind closed coffins, and it's beginning to make the clan a little suspicious. But I can't afford to be suspicious now, especially if I'm trying to get on the doll's good side.

"Cutey..."

I reach out, wanting to place a comforting hand on her plasticized shoulder. Perhaps if I'm really, really gentle with her, she won't react in her usual, stabby way, but the dark glare she's intent on giving me is telling a completely different story. I'm quick to withdraw, but it still doesn't save me from the inevitable.

"Touch me, and I will cut you!" She yells, suddenly drawing her knife from what seems like thin air, and it's obvious that she's not afraid to use it. And it's obvious she doesn't seem to care that she's nicked my wrist with the sharp tip of her weapon; her face seemingly starting to adopt a _smile_ as she notices the blood slowly seeping down my pale skin.

Well, that's what I _think_ happened...

I suddenly find myself waking up with a start and a short fit of deep, panicked breathing; checking my wrist for any injuries, my panic somewhat calms when I feel nothing but my uncut, slightly cold skin. And it seems my mini panic-attack has attracted the attention of a familiar face.

"Something startle you, Melluzine?"

On the other end of the bed, Cutey's staring at me in a slightly irked, yet slightly concerned manner; looking somewhat disturbing, but at least she doesn't hold any desires to cut me this time around; in fact, she slides over to my end and budges up close to me, her blonde bunches trailing over and tickling my face.

"What's troubling you, weirdo?" She asks, but her use of the w word is in good faith if the petite but honest smile on her face is anything to go by.

"I...I had a bad dream, that's all."

"I'll ward them off then...just for tonight," she says, shooting me a somewhat awkward look as she wraps her arms around my waist as best she can. "Just don't expect me to be this nice tomorrow, ok?"

Feeling myself slowly descend into slumber with a long yet somewhat hushed yawn, I feel her tighten her grip somewhat as if she's trying to protect me. It feels quite awkward, but awkwardness is a price I'm willing to pay for Cutey's company.

You know, I completely take back what I said earlier. Having a living doll, especially another young girl, is actually _the_ best thing to happen to this clan since..._forever_...


End file.
